The Grieving Plain
by Zane Twist
Summary: A year after his visit to Jack's folks, Ennis returns to Lightning Flat. Because I wanted to write about Ennis and Jack's mother.


6

**The Grieving Plain**

Ennis del Mar didn't know what put the idea into his head. It was just there full-blown when he woke up one morning, a year and a few months after Jack Twist died. He awoke that morning feeling peaceful and almost happy, for he had been dreaming of Jack, Jack as in the old days on Brokeback Mountain, smiling and laughing and complaining about the never-ending beans that old Joe Aguirre had supplied them with that summer of '63.

He awoke remembering all the times, after their hunting and fishing trips, that Jack, like a dutiful son, had gone up to Lightning Flat to visit his folks before heading back to Texas. He remembered, too, Jack's mother telling him, when he had visited Jack's folks and found the two shirts that Jack had carefully preserved from that long-ago summer on Brokeback Mountain, how Jack had given his father a hand on the ranch every year. He also remembered her invitation, "You come see us again."

Work was slack on the ranch just then. Stock had been shipped, and winter feeding had not yet begun. After caring for his horses that morning, Ennis drove into Riverton. At the drug store, he bought a cheap pad of lined paper and a new pen. At the counter in the post office, he laboriously wrote:

Dear Mr. & Mrs. Twist,

I hope this finds you both well. Work is slow right now, thought I might come up for a few days, help you folks get your place ready for winter. Let me know if you are agreeble.

Yours sincerely,

Ennis Del Mar

He bought a postage-paid envelope, addressed it, put the letter inside, and deposited it in the slot.

A few days later, Jack's mother read Ennis's letter to Jack's father across the kitchen table after supper. When she finished, the old man snorted. "Ennis del Mar?" he said. "What's he want a come around here for? Never come up here while Jack was livin'. Let him mind his own business."

And then for perhaps the first time in 45 years of marriage, Jack's mother contradicted her husband—gently, but she contradicted him. "Now, John," she said, reaching across the table and placing her hand on his forearm, "you know Ennis del Mar was our Jack's best friend for a long time. If he wants a give up some of his time, come up here for a few days to help us out, I think we should let him. You're always complainin' you can't get no help around here, and you know this place is gettin' a be too much for us to take care of ourselves."

The old man considered that for a few minutes. "Well, all right," he said at last, but he looked dubious. As soon as the dishes were done, Jack's mother sat back down at the kitchen table, wrote Ennis a note saying they'd be glad to see him, he should come any time he wanted. And that was how, one late afternoon a week later, Ennis found himself sitting at the same kitchen table, across from the old man, sipping coffee.

"Be glad to give you a hand with the stock, whatever, around the place, for a couple a days," Ennis said to John Twist. "Maybe do a few things around the house, too." He didn't want to be specific and embarrass Jack's parents, but he could see that the house needed work. When the old man didn't answer right away, Jack's mother, pouring Ennis more coffee, said, "Thank you, Ennis, we'd appreciate that."

When Ennis finished his second cup of coffee, he rose to go, said he'd be back first light the next morning, but Jack's mother put a hand on his arm, stopped him. "You'll stay for supper," she insisted. At that, the old man gave her a look, but she ignored it. She ignored him, too, when supper was over, and Ennis said he ought to be going, he'd passed a motel about ten miles down the road where he thought he'd get a room, and she said, instead, that if Ennis wanted to get an early start on the chores, he ought to stay on the ranch, he could use Jack's old room.

The suggestion took Ennis by surprise. He hadn't anticipated that. He wasn't at all happy with the idea of sleeping in Jack's old room, but Jack's mother was being so nice, he couldn't think of a polite way to refuse. He felt like a jackrabbit caught between two coyotes, with nowhere to run. "Wouldn't want a put you out none," he murmured, but Jack's mother said it was no trouble at all, she wouldn't hear of him going to that rat-infested old fleabag of a motel. So that settled it, and a few minutes later Ennis found himself climbing the staircase with its own climbing rhythm that he had climbed only once before, a little over a year past.

The door to Jack's room was closed, and the hinges squeaked a little when Ennis opened it. The room was dark but illuminated by moonlight from the window. Ennis turned on the light, put his hat on the desk, his coat on the back of the chair. He sat down on the bed. The little room was just as he remembered it from a year ago, the bed, the desk, the chair, the b.b. gun in a rack on the wall, the closet with the jeans still on their hangers and the old pair of boots that he was sure he had seen Jack wear on one of their fishing trips.

Ennis fished a small bottle of whiskey out of his duffel. He unscrewed the cap and took a healthy swig before returning the bottle carefully to his bag. He remembered Jack telling him how his mother believed in the Pentecost, and thought perhaps she didn't allow liquor in the house. She was being so nice to him he didn't want to offend. After a while, he took off his boots, turned out the light, and lay down on the bed fully clothed, without turning down the covers. Somehow, it just didn't seem right to him to sleep in Jack's bed. Nevertheless, it had been a long day, and sooner than he might have expected Ennis fell asleep. When he woke in the morning, before first light, he was relieved but a little surprised and puzzled that he had not dreamed of Jack, there in the room where Jack had been a boy.

That morning, Ennis was already at work cleaning out the barn when Jack's father came out to join him. They cared for the stock, then Ennis suggested other things that might be done around the place, repairing a broken latch on the barn door, resetting sagging fence posts that he had noticed on his drive in, rehanging gates, cleaning and oiling machinery that hadn't seen maintenance in twenty years, and the old man let him be to do what he saw fit.

After doing ranch work in the mornings, afternoons, Ennis found things to do around the house, caulking around windows, nailing down loose boards, even, one afternoon, fixing a leak in the roof around the chimney. There was enough to do around the ranch, between the outbuildings, the machinery, and the house, so much that had been sadly neglected because it was too much for the old man to manage by himself, that the two or three days Ennis had intended to stay lengthened into a week. During the week, he took his meals with Jack's parents, continued to sleep in Jack's old room. Gradually he relaxed enough to actually sleep in the bed, but, curiously, in the room where Jack grew up, he continued not to dream of Jack.

After a week, however, Ennis finally needed to get back to Riverton. He needed to get back to his job or risk losing it. On the afternoon of Ennis's last day in Lightning Flat, the old man drove into town for a doctor's appointment and a few other errands. As his last job on the house, Ennis finished up putting a coat of fresh paint on the front porch trim and the door and window frames. When he was done, he put the leftover paint in the shed, cleaned his brush, and walked back to the house, coming in through the kitchen door.

When Ennis came into the kitchen, Jack's mother was finishing up cleaning a bowl of green beans for supper. She had planned a nice meal for Ennis's last night with them, baked a cherry cake, Jack's favorite, for dessert. As Ennis sat down at the kitchen table, she said to him, "Want a cup a coffee, Ennis? Just made a fresh pot."

"Yes, ma'am," he said, "that would be nice. Thank you." She got a cup out of the cupboard, poured it full of the steaming coffee, set it on the table in front of Ennis. Then she sat down across the table from him. They sat in silence for several minutes. Ennis blew on his coffee to cool it, took a few sips.

"Somethin' on your mind, Ennis?" Jack's mother asked. He seemed thoughtful.

Ennis waited a moment, cleared his throat, then said, "Ma'am, would you do somethin' for me?"

"Of course, Ennis," Jack's mother replied. "What is it?"

Ennis looked at her a bit before answering. "Would you show me where Jack's ashes is buried?" Ennis knew where the grieving plain with its sagging sheep wire fence was located, for he passed right by it on his way to the ranch, but he didn't want to hunt among the grave markers for the place where Jack's ashes were interred.

Jack's mother sat silent for a moment, looking at him, her hands in her lap. She had been wondering all week whether he would ask about Jack's grave. "Why, of course, Ennis," she said, "we'll go right now. It's not far. Just let me get my coat." She stood up, took off her apron and sweater, laid them neatly over the back of her chair. She got her coat and a scarf from the closet in the front room, and Ennis helped her on with her coat. "I'll bring the truck 'round front," he said. "Mind the fresh paint, you go out the front door."

When he drove his pickup around to the front of the house a few minutes later, Jack's mother was standing on the front porch holding a terra cotta pot of red geraniums. It was late in the year for flowers, but the front porch faced south, so she still had several pots of flowers blooming. None of them would last much longer, as cold as the nights were getting. Ennis got out, opened the passenger door for her, held the flowerpot in one hand while he helped her up with the other, then handed the flowers back to her.

The sky clouded over during the short drive to the cemetery. The little country burying ground was bleak under the overcast. There was a smell of snow in the air when Ennis got out of the pickup. He helped Jack's mother down from the passenger side, then walked ahead of her to open the gate to the cemetery. He let her pass in ahead of him, then closed the gate behind them.

Jack's mother walked directly to the back corner of the burial ground. As Ennis followed her, he noticed a number of headstones lettered "Twist." Evidently Jack's family had been in the area almost since pioneer days. Jack's mother stopped in front of a small gray stone, lettered simply, in capitals:

JOHN C. TWIST, JR.

Underneath the name were the years of Jack's birth and death. Apparently the small stone was all Jack's parents could afford, though the carving of the praying hands above the name undoubtedly had cost extra. It seemed odd to Ennis to think of Jack, his Jack, as "John C. Twist, Jr." It was almost as if it were someone else's grave, some stranger's, not Jack's at all. Ennis took off his hat.

Jack's mother put the pot of geraniums in front of the stone, then stepped back. She had her head bowed, as if in prayer, when, a few moments later, a sudden, small noise, a strangled, gasping sort of sound, made her look at Ennis just as his legs gave out and he went down on his knees, his shoulders shaking with great, wrenching sobs as a year and more—perhaps twenty years—of pent-up grief came pouring out at once. He buried his face in his hands, and once or twice Jack's mother thought she heard him say her son's name in a small, choked voice barely above a whisper.

She put her hand on his shoulder, and at her touch Ennis looked up, and Jack's mother thought she had never in her life seen such a grief-stricken face. She tightened her grip on his shoulder. "I know, son," she said quietly, "I know."

They stayed just like that for a few interminable minutes, Ennis on his knees, bent nearly double, Jack's mother with her hand on Ennis's shoulder. Finally, Ennis's sobbing subsided. He wiped his face on his coat sleeve, got slowly to his feet, put on his hat. He fished a handkerchief out of his back pocket and blew his nose. He looked at Jack's mother and said nothing, smiled a little, embarrassed, apologetic smile. Jack's mother took his arm, and they walked silently out of the cemetery and back to the pickup.

The first snowflakes began to fall just as they got back to the ranch. The old man had not yet returned from town. Ennis went upstairs to wash his face, came back down to the kitchen, sat silently while Jack's mother went about making supper. Jack's father got back from town just about nightfall. Supper was a silent business, though over the coffee and cherry cake afterward the old man cleared his throat, thanked Ennis for his help that week. Ennis said don't mention it, he was glad to do it for Jack's sake. "We was good friends for a long time," Ennis reminded the old man. Neither Ennis nor Jack's mother said anything to the old man about their visit to the cemetery.

Wanting to get an early start back to Riverton the next morning, Ennis headed upstairs to turn in just as soon as he finished drying the dishes for Jack's mother. That night, for the first time that week, he dreamed of Jack. In the dream, Jack said nothing, but he was smiling broadly at Ennis. Ennis awoke the next morning suffused with a sense of happiness from his dream.

Ennis was up even earlier than usual the next morning, as he wanted to getstarted on the long drive back to Riverton. Still, Jack's mother was up even earlier. She insisted on fixing him a good breakfast—ham, eggs, fried potatoes—to send him on his way. When he had finished eating, he pushed his chair back from the table and rose to go. The old man had still not come downstairs.

He put his coat and hat on, then stood looking a little awkwardly at Jack's mother. "Well," said Ennis, "guess I better head out. Thank you for everything, ma'am." Jack's mother put her arm through his, walked with him to the kitchen door, said, "No, thank _you_ for comin', Ennis." As he stood with his hand on the doorknob, Jack's mother gave him a quick hug, smiled up at him quickly, said quietly, "You come see us again, son." "Sure enough, ma'am," Ennis said quietly.

The little country burying ground looked a little less bleak under six inches of new snow when Ennis drove by. The drive back to Riverton was uneventful, despite the snowfall. When he got back home, Ennis stood for a long time in front of the two old shirts, on their hanger under the postcard of Brokeback Mountain, just touching Jack's shirt tucked so carefully inside his own. A few tears stung his eyes, but he felt at peace. If he could not carry out Jack's wish to have his ashes scattered on Brokeback Mountain, at least he had visited Jack's final resting place, and he had done what he could to honor Jack's memory by doing what he could for Jack's parents. Remembering his own dream in Jack's old room, he felt that Jack was pleased, and that thought gave him no little comfort.


End file.
